


Mad Bird in the Morning Sun

by Dedicate Kiwicrocus (cranky__crocus)



Series: SMACKDOWN '11 Round Two - Team Discipline [14]
Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/F, Goldenlake, smackdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-21
Updated: 2011-05-21
Packaged: 2017-10-19 16:19:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/202819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cranky__crocus/pseuds/Dedicate%20Kiwicrocus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone was shaking her awake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mad Bird in the Morning Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SMACKDOWN at Goldenlake: fiefgoldenlake.proboards.com

Someone was shaking her awake. Either there was a fire and raiders and a cyclone and a dragon threatening Winding Circle all at once, or surely the most senseless inhabitant of the planet was _shaking her awake_ at gods-knew-what-time in the morning.

            Her eyes fluttered open, sticky with sleep and dreams.

            Paraskeve. She was either the stupidest or bravest novice the Living Circle had ever welcomed.

            “Paras— _what?_ ” Niva growled. Her glare wasn’t as whetted and effective, filled as it was with sleep, but it was useless anyway for Paras could withstand the full blunt of it during midday.

            “Wake up!” she whispered, a grin wide in her stupidly _awake_ face.

            “I _am_ awake, bird-brain! _Why_ am I awake?”

            “Because I woke you up—”

            “I _know_.”

            “—to bring you outside. Get up. Put clothes on. Just trust me,” Paraskeve finished, her magic pulling at the weave of Niva’s blanket.

“What about me made you think I trust _anyone_ _?_ ” Niva huffed, but to her own displeasure, she was already pulling herself up and out of bed. Her nightgown nearly fell off her; she slapped at Paras’ hand. “I am perfectly capable of undressing myself, if it’s all the same.” Her glare was honing by the second.

            While once she had been shy about her body, it was difficult to remain so in a dormitory, and especially around Paras—who was so astonishingly comfortable with herself. Niva envied it but was sure not to complain about her own features, lest her companion—friend? no, too ridiculous—tell her off for it again. She slipped into the white habit folded neatly across her bedside chair, or did so after removing it from under Paras’ bottom.

            Paras jumped up and grasped Niva’s hand, pulling her out toward the corridor and checking both ways to be sure their way was clear. She turned over her shoulder and pressed her finger to her lips. Niva thought, _well if_ that _wasn’t obvious enough!_

            Niva made more noise moving down the corridor than Paraskeve did—drat the woman and her lightness of foot; she was like a bird, all hollow bones and eager flight. Niva felt far more rooted down as she hurried after the woman, still attached at the hands. She was torn between frowning and laughing when she realised this woman a decade older was pressuring her into stirring up mischief. Wasn’t it supposed to be the other way around?

            They made it free form the dormitory building and stopped outside, hiding behind one of the larger bushes.

            “What are we doing?” Niva had to pose, for her own now-conscious mind if nothing else.

            “I’ll tell you when we’re doing it,” Paras whispered back, checking around the bush again. “For now we’re going to the stables.”

            “We’re stealing _horses_ _?_ ” the younger woman cried, voice spiking with her incredulity and—dare she feel it—excitement. Paras yanked her head around and placed a hand over Niva’s lips.

            “Borrowing,” she clarified. “And _shh_ , or you’ll get us both caught.”

            Niva decided that Paras smelled like spices and sunshine, with a little sweetness thrown in for good measure; Isas would be jealous, for he could never identify Janaali scents correctly. When the hand was removed, another question bubbled up from her. “What if we _do_ get caught?”

            “Then we get caught and wrist-slapped,” Paras responded with all the ease in the world, as if such a thing didn’t matter at all. Niva could feel the woman’s grin as much as see it in the dim light. “People haven’t lived enough if they’ve never broken the rules.”

            For all that it went against everything Niva had ever held true about herself, she couldn’t help but joining in the conspiratorial grin. They were both outstanding students—what was a little trouble too? Surely not much could come of it. Plus, she had never had anyone _interested_ in breaking rules with her—Isas was a stick in the mud—and the feeling was a little…encouraging, and strengthening, and embracing, too.

            “Alright,” Paras said, interrupting her train of thought, “On my count we’re going to run to the stables.”

            “What about alarm spells?”

            Paras grinned. “Can you cross your fingers and run at the same time? I looked up a secrecy spell in the library last week and tried in on my habit; I spelled yours while you were sleeping. Look alive, we’re running in—”

            “You’re completely crazy—”

            “Kite…crow… _lark!_ ” Paras called in a whisper and yanked Niva up at the arm. Just like that, they were running like children across Winding Circle toward the stable, ducking into any shadow afforded them by trees and fences. But it was long past the Midnight Service and no one was about; the sleepless dedicates and visitors would surely be inside.

            When they arrived at the stable, huffing and puffing—Paras more so than Niva—the latter was forced to ask, due to lethal curiosity, “What happened to counting with _numbers_ _?_ ”

            “ _‘One for the morrow, two for today; three for your sorrow, four to be gay; five for metals, six for gems, seven for a little lifting of hems; eight for me, and nine for the miss and ten for the hope you shan’t miss a kiss,_ ’” Paras sang off by heart, smiling like a madwoman—for, indeed, she was. Niva couldn’t help her laughter, but Paras wasn’t quite through. “I thought if people count birds, I might as well count _with_ birds. Now, are you ready?”

            “I could be, possibly, if you told me what I’m to be ready _for_.”

            “We’re riding into sunrise.”

            “As if that tells me—”

            “It tells you everything,” Paraskeve opposed, halting Niva’s argument; it died behind her lips. Paras pulled the other girl into the stable but slowed once they were inside, careful not to spook the four-legged beauties. She was gentle and soothing as she approached the nearest—black as the night they were witnessing—and looked away, feigning a whuffling sound and slowly offering her hand where the animal could see it.

            The horse stepped back, but after another second extended its neck and nudged the woman’s hand.

            “I’m going to call you _Jaat_ ,” Paras informed it, voice so low and soft it was almost beyond Niva’s hearing; the word the woman used was unfamiliar to her. “Will you help us?”

            _Good Green Man’s breeches, she’s talking to a horse!_ Niva thought in wonder, but as she finished the thought she witnessed the horse nudge further and step toward the door of its enclosure. Paras nodded and pulled a halter from a nail by the door; she applied it to the horse, gentle in every manoeuvre. She took the reins from the other bridle and attached it to the halter instead, gazing over her shoulder as she finished. “You’ll have to trust me. I don’t want to spend more time here fixing up a saddle and bit.”

            Niva nodded. However mad this woman was, Niva had somehow learned to trust her.

            “Grab those blankets hanging there.” Niva did so immediately and handed them over. Paras spread the first over Niva’s shoulders. “That’s to keep warm.”

            She blamed the heat of her face on the sudden warmth of the blanket. It was simple, really.

            Paras opened the door in one fell swoop, rather than wasting squeaky seconds; it was surprisingly well-greased, or well-magicked. She led the horse from the stall, Niva on her other side. When they were free of the stable and into the nearby field, Paras turned.

            “Have you mounted a bare-back horse before?”

            Niva nodded, then paused. “But I was five summers old.”

            Paras held the reins firm and kneeled down, one knee straight up with her thigh parallel to the ground. “Use the hair of the withers to guide you. Push off my knee, jump up—only the barest amount—and pull yourself up, as gently as you can. _Jaat_ here is a patient boy, I can tell. Up you go—I’ll follow after.”

            “It’s not too much weight?” Niva questioned, unconvinced.

            “He is big and we are little, comparatively speaking, for people. He’ll be fine.”

            Niva took a deep breath and wove her fingers into the hair of the horse’s withers. She nearly laughed to hear herself speaking to the horse as well. “ _Jaat_ , I’ll be gentle, I promise; please don’t let me fall. I’ll break myself.”

            Paras chuckled as Niva stepped onto her leg and immediately pushed off, up and onto the horse’s back with her stomach, where she pulled and rearranged herself into a seated position. It certainly felt different from a saddle, but it brought back memories of Anderran farmland and trails with her favourite stable horse.

            When Paras was finished inspecting for signs of annoyance— _Jaat_ showcased a general sense of interest but not irritation—she gazed up at Niva. “Normally I wouldn’t suggest this, but I’m going to mount front instead. Give me a little room and as soon as I’m up, grab my waist and the withers again, understand?”

            Niva nodded. She felt her head might fall off after all this nodding; she was used to exercising her lips in protest more than her neck in nodding. Regardless, she inched back some and held the withers, prepared to let go for the instant Paras was in the air.

            It seemed less than even an instant. Paras stood by the horse’s head, took a running step and seemed to _fly_ up onto the horse, knee bent to avoid hitting Niva; the woman settled immediately on the horse’s back, no adjustment. Niva placed her hands where Paras had instructed her, snug up against the woman’s back and holding on tight.

            “Good grip,” the woman complimented. Niva could somehow sense the smile.

            “Now what?” she inquired, still unbelieving of all this.

            “We ride into the sunrise.”

            Niva groaned.

 

 

But this daybreak was more beautiful than Niva had ever witnessed before. Paras had ridden them to the nearby hills of the peninsula, so they could watch the sun rise over the eastern lands and reflect on the bay surrounding the Ragat and Pajun islands, Summersea behind them.

            The array of colour was dazzling. She watched the trees turn from the still blueness of pre-dawn to the golden glow of first light, all over the hills and settlements of Emelan and across to Sotat. Her breath caught.

            “It’s beautiful, Paraskeve,” she stated, wonder clear in her voice.

            She could feel Paras’ laughter as they stood under one blanket, _Jaat_ fixed to the nearest tree and happily nosing about. Paras asked, “Was it worth being woken up?”

            “Perhaps.” That was all Niva would give, but she feared her smile said more and hid it behind the blanket.

            Paras pulled her closer and pointed across the bay; their cheeks were almost touching, and Niva had to focus herself to follow her companion’s finger into the distance. “Do you see that smoke rising there? I danced there, once, for a gathering of nobles at the palace. The market place had these wonderful honey-coated buns that melted in your mouth…”

            Niva was captivated: by the break of day, the landscape, and Paras’ stories of this world Niva had never experienced.

 

 

They were caught in the end, as well. A dedicate gifted with animals tracked them up by following _Jaat_ at dawn—but when the man saw the horse was quite content, and that it was a novice he recognised, he softened.

            Niva realised then that Paraskeve was gifted with fellow humans in a way she herself could not comprehend: did Paras know _everyone_ _?_ Perhaps not, but give it a little time and she tended to.

            Dedicate Silkmane—Niva worked very hard not to laugh at the name and was proud for accomplishing the feat—struck a deal with them: Niva would help him plant around the stable; Paras would help muck stalls and for the moment, continue her beautiful tales; he wouldn’t rat them out.

            He even had breakfast in his satchel. The three shared still-warm buns (not quite as tasty as Sotat, Paras confessed, but good nonetheless) and watched the sun rise higher into day.

            When they arrived back at Winding Circle, Silkmane even took responsibility for their outing to Honoured Dedicate Sage, stating that he had taken them up the hills to improve their teamwork. (Niva believed she heard, as she was leaving, the implication that Paraskeve might rub off on her. _Ha!_ she thought. _They pray_.)

            Niva decided, instead, that she and Paraskeve together probably created the friendship the temple would _least_ want, between Niva’s temper and intolerance of people and Paras’ ocean-wide streak of mischief.

            With that, Niva decided it was time to truly consider Paraskeve her friend. _Dedicate Sage will rue the day she wanted Paraskeve to rub off on_ me _._ She grinned and wondered if Paras had any other plans in that mad mind of hers—ones that were at a friendlier hour and were kinder on her bottom.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! (:


End file.
